The Same Mistake
by Morgan72uk
Summary: When the Director is hurt, some of Gibbs' demons catch up with him. But is he ready to face them? Jibbs
1. Chapter 1

The Same Mistake

Author: Morgan72uk

Rating: T

Summary: Gibbs' demons catch up with him - is he ready to face them?

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.

A/N - OK, so I am over my need for fluff. This story actually started life as the second half of a quite different story that will never see the light of day in its entirety. Thanks to the person who gave me some fantastic advice - you know who you are!

**Part 1**

With practised ease, Gibbs scanned the small group of people standing on the veranda. The warm autumn evening had encouraged the guests out of doors – causing the inevitable headache for those charged with their security.

He checked the perimeter once more and then returned his gaze to the assembled politicians, diplomats and Pentagon officials. He found the Director without difficulty; the dress she was wearing glittered where it caught the light - drawing his gaze. He was here, at least in part, to ensure her safety and at times like this he wished that she was just a little less, conspicuous.

Security remained tight, barely 24 hours earlier a threat to this event had been neutralised. Despite the successful conclusion of their investigation, despite the scores of arrests he couldn't quite shake a feeling that they had missed something – or someone.

He checked in and heard from Tony & Ziva. McGee was circulating, holding a tray of champagne glasses; he made an unexpectedly good waiter; a fact DiNozzo never ceased to remind him of.

Gibbs flicked his gaze across the manicured lawns; not sure quite what had drawn his attention. Relying on instinct he spoke into his wrist-piece, giving the order to move the guests back indoors. But it was too late; the short volley of shots rang out before he'd finished speaking, scattering the small knot of guests and sending various security teams springing into action.

He moved at once; returning fire while covering those closest to him. He wasn't the only one responding – he heard commands and then an order for medics. He turned in response and froze for a split second when he realised the identity of one of the people who hadn't run for cover.

"Boss!" DiNozzo and Ziva were alongside him now, already moving in the direction the shots had come from – but he couldn't stop looking at the Director of NCIS, because Jen wasn't getting to her feet.

McGee was bending over her and Gibbs could see there was blood on the younger man's hands as he turned her body over and fumbled at her neck for a pulse. The expression on his face made it clear that he hadn't found one.

* * *

Gibbs woke with a start, the hammering of his heart obscenely loud in the silence of the bedroom. Running a shaky hand over his face he pushing himself to his feet and padded into the bathroom. He avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror as he splashed cold water onto his face. It wasn't the first time he'd had this nightmare; he knew exactly what he would see in the bloodshot eyes staring back at him. 

At least this time Hollis hadn't been here to witness him waking with Jen's name on his lips.

Bitter experience told him it would be pointless to even attempt sleep after the nightmare; it had been pointless for weeks now. He dressed and retreated to his basement – hoping for a little calm. The boat was his refuge – but lately even that had failed to keep the ghosts at bay.

The fractured chaos of that night stayed with him – even now, weeks later. The crackle of static from his earwig; sirens wailing in the night; the smell of blood and gunfire. His memory conjured up the image of Abby crying softly in Tony's arms, Ziva murmuring under her breath what she later told him was a Hebrew prayer; the hollow expression on Ducky's face and the blood that had soaked into McGee's shirt – Jen's blood.

"You dreamt about her again?" He looked up and, though he knew it was his subconscious playing tricks on him, he could almost see Kate standing before him. Her eyebrow raised, foot tapping, waiting for him to see something she had realised hours before. "You're going to have to do something about this Gibbs."

"You're dead," he told her, more to remind himself of the fact.

"But she isn't."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - thanks for the reviews. Part 2 is short as well - which is why you are getting a rapid update. Thanks to the person who helped me get the ending right!

**The Same Mistake – part 2**

"_You're dead," he told her, more to remind himself of the fact. _

"_But she isn't."_

It had been a damn close thing.

He had spent long hours in a too hot room, drinking appalling coffee, before the news had arrived that though her heart had stopped briefly on the table, the Director of NCIS had survived surgery and was in critical, but stable condition.

He was relieved, of course. For all their disagreements, all the complexities and contradictions of their professional relationship, the moment when he thought that she might be dead had been horrifying. But then the relief had drained away; leaving behind complicated feelings that he'd had no choice but to run away from. The investigation into the shooting had given him an excuse, but it had been concluded weeks ago - and he hadn't stopped running.

His team treated him as though he were made of glass, Hollis had told him he needed to, 'work things out.' The only one to call him on his failings had been Ducky – and Kate's ghost.

At night his sleep brought him truths he wasn't prepared to face in daylight hours. When he woke, the realisation that Jen had beated the odds and was still alive hit him like a ton of bricks – goading him to take action. But he resisted; day after day, going through the motions, not thinking too much. Keeping his distance.

He'd barely spoken to her, had visited the hospital only when he was sure she was unconscious or asleep. Now she was recovering at home and he was still using every conceivable excuse to stay away from her.

She'd made no attempt to contact him, unless you counted leaving notes on the files he was required to sign off, giving him advice on the decisions she would have made. Ducky said that she'd asked about him; Gibbs suspected his old friend had tried his best to explain his absence, though he wasn't sure how good an attempt he'd made of it. Jen knew him far too well to be convinced by excuses and in their conversations over the last few weeks the good Doctor had made it clear that he didn't understand why Gibbs had seemingly abandoned his former partner when she needed him most.

Jen must be wondering the same thing. Or maybe she wasn't surprised; maybe she had no illusions about what he could and couldn't offer.

He was the one with the illusions - night after night he came face to face with them. Their legacy the tattered emotions that were making it difficult for him to concentrate. He had no idea how to stop the dream, except perhaps to give in and confront this particular demon. But he didn't believe they had any more chance of surviving together now than they'd had 8 years previously. They were the same people, who'd make the same mistakes. And he didn't think he could live through that particular failure again.

Perhaps, he had finally reached the point when a resolution, however messy, was preferable to the insomnia and this crushing burden of regret. He'd reached for the phone and dialled her number almost without realising what he'd done, certainly without preparing himself for the prospect of actually speaking to her.

"Sheppard," her voice was soft, tired. He hadn't even checked what time it was – he'd probably woken her. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the button that would end the call. "Jethro?"

"Don't tell me, you recognised the heavy breathing?" He asked, his heart not really in their banter.

"It's known as caller id," she replied, "a lot of people have it these days," and then, after a beat, "is everything all right?" He knew better than to attempt to answer that.

"Did I wake you?"

"I'm not sleeping very well." Rumour had it she was driving the Doctor's crazy, pushing too hard – desperate to be cleared to return to work. He knew her well enough to recognise that enforced inactivity was probably her worst nightmare – unless she was dreaming about the shooting as well.

"Neither am I," he wasn't sure why he'd confessed that, maybe to let her know she wasn't the only one living with the after-effects.

"Jethro…" He recognised the unspoken request for what it was. And he owed her. For not being there when she woke up in a hospital bed, for being a lousy friend these last few weeks. For not preventing her from being injured on his watch.

"Give me half an hour."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - thanks for the reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying the story.

**The Same Mistake part 3**

_"Jethro…" He recognised the unspoken request for what it was. And he owed her. For not being there when she woke up in a hospital bed, for being a lousy friend these last few weeks. For not preventing her from being injured on his watch._

_"Give me half an hour."_

He almost changed his mind; almost turned back two or three times. He dealt with trauma by burying it, refusing to talk about it. But the dream wouldn't allow him to continue with that response and while he didn't believe in second chances, he knew he would have no peace unless he faced this.

As he approached her door he remembered once again the moment he had turned to see her lying on the ground; the horrified expression on McGee's face, the blood. He closed his eyes, driving the images away and when he opened them she was leaning against the front door, watching him. Without heels and a suit and with a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders she looked smaller, a little too pale and fragile, but assuredly alive. His knees almost buckled in relief.

A couple of years ago she'd reappeared in his life while he was still reeling from the loss of Kate. And he hadn't known how to respond to her. He hadn't known how to cope with the anger and the memories she invoked, hadn't been able to decide what place she held in his life. In the years that had passed he wasn't sure either of them had figured it out. This probably wasn't the best time to start. He hesitated on the doorstep, forcing her to ask, "are you coming inside?"

"I'm not sure."

"Let me know when you decide." She closed the door in his face, but didn't lock it. He'd chastise her for not taking her personal security more seriously; if not for the armed bodyguards he'd had to negotiate his way past to get here.

It took him about 30 seconds to decide to follow her, the dream pushing at him when he was tempted to walk away. As he stepped into the living room she was sitting on the couch, files spread out on the coffee table before her. He was relieved not to find her in the study – a room that had seen more than its share of their worst confrontations. "You aren't supposed to be working."

He tried to stare her down, but she gazed back without flinching. "What are you doing here Jethro?"

"You wanted me to come over," she shook her head, everything about her expression telling him how badly he was messing this up. "You going to offer me a drink?"

"Help yourself," she gestured towards the drinks on the sideboard, "I'm not allowed – doctor's orders."

"How about some coffee?"

"Not allowed that either," he could tell how delighted she was about that. On another day he might have been amused to see how she was coping without caffeine. But one look at her face made it clear he'd be risking his life to even mention it. Heading for the kitchen might at least buy him some time,

"I'll make us some hot milk."

He wasn't the greatest cook in the world, but he could manage to put milk in a pan and heat it. There were spices in a rack, which he could probably add to the finished article to make it taste better. "You can put a slug of bourbon in yours," a voice said from behind him, proving all over again that she knew him just a little too well.

She didn't attempt to hide her amusement at finding him pottering around in her kitchen. In fact she leant against the island and unabashedly watched him for a while, before repeating her earlier question, "what are you doing here Jethro?"

He was having trouble finding an answer to that and when she reached for him, her hand wrapping around his arm to turn him towards her, he wasn't sure he could even meet her eyes. He hadn't needed Ducky to tell him that only McGee's prompt response and the presence of a Doctor among the guests had stopped her from bleeding out before the ambulance reached her. And still he hadn't answered her question.

"Jen," he breathed and then stopped when their eyes finally met. He wasn't prepared, though he'd known he'd have to face this if he came to her. His uncertainty was mirrored in her eyes and only the hiss of the milk boiling saved them.

He backed away, busying himself with the hot drinks and when he handed her a mug she wrapped both hands around it as though she needed to soak up the heat. And still he couldn't find the words to tell her what had brought him here tonight and what had kept him away until now.

He followed her back to the living room and when she curled into the corner of the couch he hesitated before settling into the chair opposite – a safe distance away. She watched him, perhaps waiting to see if he was going to say anything – and then when his silence irked her she asked, "what do you want Jethro?"

"I'm making sure you're all right."

"You're a little late with that."

"You're more than capable of keeping track of me Jen, even now."

"So, you've been too busy to visit me, except in the dead of night?" She was proving his point – but somehow he doubted that was where this conversation was heading. "Too busy to talk to me – except when driven to do so by insomnia? It's OK; I get it. The past is dead, we aren't friends, we aren't anything more than Director and Agent."

It would be so damn easy to agree and walk away – to take the exit she was offering and even tacitly reinforce her conclusion that there was nothing between them but a history they had both long since forgotten. But the taunt of the nightmare was a regular reminder that it wasn't true. Maybe he could ignore that knowledge, as he had ignored so many other aspects of his past, but not while it was affecting his ability to function.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" He was talking about that first day when she had decreed there would be no outside the office between them, but they both knew he was also referring to the choice she had made years before.

"It's what I had to do, there's a difference." She took a sip from her mug and he could see that she was choosing her words with care. "I'll be back at my desk in a couple of weeks, I'm fine."

He didn't need to see her 'tell' to know that she was lying. No one, not even Jen Sheppard, could escape death by a hairsbreadth and be all right. He was carefully not thinking that this might have happened to her before – but he could still hear the lack of inflection in her voice when she told him that Ziva had saved her life in Cairo. He'd made no attempt to find out more about what that meant, whether or not she'd been injured. But it spoke volumes that she believed she owed Ziva a debt.

"You're not. No one could be." He saw the emotions that flickered rapidly across her face, but didn't attempt to identify every one of them. He wasn't surprised when she pushed herself up and took several steps across the room to put some distance between them. He had forgotten that he knew her this well, well enough to tell when she was lying, well enough to go after her.

She turned back to look at him and he could see that she was wavering, "Jen," her gaze was hard and she lifted up and a hand to ward him off. He ignored it.

What happened next was going to be important.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - thanks for the reviews. I was planning to make this part longer but it wrote itself this way. Also, the reference to the past was suggested by my helper - thanks!

**The Same Mistake – part 4**

_What happened next was going to be important. _

He looked past her for a moment, catching sight of their reflections in the mirror above the fireplace. This time he didn't see her lying on the ground, her life bleeding away, but instead smiling at him across a restaurant table, wrapped up in his arms, waking him with soft kisses – a whole kaleidoscope of memories from their time together.

"Ducky says you aren't sleeping, I know Ziva stays here some nights." He refused to allow her to brush away what had happened .

"I see I'm not the only one who's been keeping track. Ziva and I have an understanding, she pretends she's here because she doesn't trust my safety to all those armed guards and I pretend not to know it's her way of dealing with some quite unnecessary guilt."

But it wasn't just Ziva; he knew that Abby and DiNozzo had spent a few evenings here, that Ducky had dinner with her regularly and that McGee was still reeling from the fact that she'd kicked his ass at chess and one of his video games.

"Abs is worried about you as well."

"That's a low blow Jethro." He didn't know why he was surprised that his team had come to occupy a space he hadn't been able to. As though they had decided to keep her safe until he sorted himself out. They were all feeling guilty – McGee thinking he should have got to her sooner, the rest of them dealing with the fact that the one suspect they'd missed had gone on to target the event they'd deemed safe.

The agency was on the back foot; trying to walk in her heels, as she'd once termed it, proving uncomfortable. It wasn't surprising that she was working when she should be recouperating, but it probably wasn't a good idea either.

"And what about you? Are you worried about me?" He definitely wasn't going to respond to that, though he suspected she didn't need to hear the words to be able to make an educated guess as to the answer. Her eyes were grave, the weight of the truth between them.

"You were like this in the Czech Republic," she looked surprised at his words, even though she clamped down on the reaction almost straight away. He knew she was thinking that he didn't do this, didn't talk about their past. She'd raised it from time to time, but he never did. "I almost got the Doctors to knock you out for a few days."

When she'd taken the round to the thigh their undercover mission had been blown – but they'd been far from safe. He'd had to strap the wound and watch her walk around on it for two days before they'd been able to get to a hospital. He remembered how determined she'd been to tough it out, how much pain she'd been in - and how worried he'd been about her. "Every time you went to sleep I checked your temperature, to make sure you weren't getting an infection."

"I know." At his raised eyebrow she tilted her head, in her eyes a request for forgiveness over an old deception. "I wasn't always asleep." Her lips quirked in a smile in response to whatever she saw in his expression. "And I wasn't this bad in the Czech Republic, I didn't have an agency to run then – just a partner who was blaming himself."

Their eyes met and he said quietly, "I owe you an apology." She sighed, and reminded him of one of his core beliefs.

"It's a sign of weakness,"

"Not between friends," he took another step towards her, "between partners."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - thanks for the reviews - this is the last part. Thanks to the person who gave me such great advice in writing this. Somehow it turned out to have a more upbeat ending than I thought it would.

**The Same Mistake – part 5**

_Their eyes met and he said quietly, "I owe you an apology." She sighed, and then reminded him of one of his core strictures._

"_It's a sign of weakness," _

"_Not between friends," he took another step towards her, "between partners." _

She stilled at the words and he knew she was thinking about their fights. About the score of times she'd reminded him that they weren't partners anymore, the occasions when he'd taunted her with the duplicity that had ended their partnership and the frequency with which they'd proven that, despite everything, some bonds were just too strong to break.

"I'm sorry Jen," he wasn't sure what the apology was for and she didn't ask. The emotion trembled deep inside him and it was almost impossible to resist her pull. But still he tried.

There were dark circles under her eyes and he could tell she'd lost weight. It was clear that the fragility he'd sensed in her in that first moment wasn't an illusion. She'd never accept his help and he couldn't risk offering it. He knew that she was going to push away what had happened to her and concentrate all her efforts on getting back behind her desk; it's what he would have done in her place. Had he taught her that, he wondered?

If their history were different, if they were different, he'd reach out to her – but that wasn't going to happen. They'd have to save themselves; both too wary to risk their vulnerabilities with each other. Except of course, she knew why he wasn't sleeping, that her close call had summoned his ghosts. Just as he knew she wouldn't allow anyone close until she was confident she wouldn't fall apart. He didn't even know if anyone had hugged her; but he hoped to hell that Abby had managed to duck around those formidable defences as only she could.

If he thought he could touch her once and stop there he'd do it himself. "You need to get some rest Jen," he told her quietly.

"So do you," she whispered back at him – and then added, "it wasn't your fault Jethro." He tilted his head to look at her; there really was no answer to that. "It goes with the territory."

Whatever he might have said in response was lost with the ringing of his cell phone – he flicked it open, listened impatiently for a moment and then said, "call the rest of my team, I'll meet them at the scene in 20 minutes." He wasn't sure if he was glad of the interruption. "Dead Marine in a park," he told her.

"Well then you'd better go." She followed him to the door and despite the dead body waiting for him he found he was in no hurry to depart. After staying away from her for all these weeks it was surprisingly difficult to leave.

Only as they stood together in the doorway did he realise the multi-layered message of the nightmares. Yes – he'd almost added her to his list of losses, yes - it had exposed his inadequacies and vulnerabilities when it came to her. But she wasn't dead. And those words resonated across his consciousness, the timbre deep and powerful.

For all her complexities and contradictions, for all of her flaws and all of his; still she lived and breathed. She wasn't dead – and he knew from experience that there was more than one way to lose someone. "Did you get what you came for Jethro?"

He'd come for her – for a shot at peace and a resolution that he wasn't sure he had the right to hope for. All the old doubts and hesitations remained. There was every chance they'd make the same mistake – or a whole lot of new ones. And shake the foundations of the agency into the bargain. He'd spent a lot of the night not answering her questions, he figured he owed her at least one genuine response.

"I don't know what I came for, maybe because of something I lost a long time ago."

"And did you find it?"

"Turns out, I hadn't lost it." She couldn't possibly miss his meaning, though she ducked his gaze just the same.

"I've heard that can happen," a strand of her hair slipped across her face and though he'd promised himself he wouldn't touch her, he couldn't quite resist the temptation to tuck it back behind her ear. A smile tugged at her lips at his touch and he let his fingertips stroke her cheek – just for a moment.

"Jethro," he knew what she was going to say, he could see the regret in her eyes, knew how torn she was – because he felt exactly the same way. But neither of them was in any state to make decisions of this magnitude right now.

"Goodnight Jen."

It would never work now, when they were both at their lowest ebbs. But someday, when she was making him crazy, being brilliant, driven and sexy at the same time, he could see himself making that same mistake all over again. And he didn't think there was much point relying on her restraint to save them, not unless she'd got a whole lot better at denial and celibacy.

He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that she was still at the door, watching him as he walked back towards his car. He was feeling better, lighter somehow. Maybe, when this case was over, he'd be able to sleep without the nightmares.

After all, if you were going to make the same mistake the advantage was that the second time you knew how to put the mistake right. He smiled at the thought – and kept walking.

The End


End file.
